


Oblivious not Obvious

by jearmintrash



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drag Club, Drunk Sex, M/M, PWP, Rimming, drag eren, drag jean, let me know if i missed tags, oblivious armin is canon right lmao, ssh kinda car sex, this is no tumblr stop playing w tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:37:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jearmintrash/pseuds/jearmintrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s just one night thing, isn’t it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oblivious not Obvious

"Eren! Please, can’t you just leave me alone! I don’t want to watch you grind your junk!”

Armin’s said that an hour ago, yet here he is on a Friday night at a seedy drag club watching Eren grind his junk on stage for pleasure. Armin looks away from the stage where Eren is dancing—god, when did Eren get that flexible?—and turns to look at the bottles of liquor behind the bar he’s sitting at. The stools are uncomfortable; all the male dancers are wearing nothing but trunk and heels. He’s not drunk enough for this. He doesn’t want to pleasure Eren more than this.

He waves the bartender over for vodka, and wonders if bleaching his eyes out will help erase the image of Eren in only trunk and six-inch heels that’s embedded itself into his brain.

“Your first time here?” the bartender asks, refilling Armin’s drink. He nods his head slightly. The bartender gives a smile. “If you need a break, I can show you to the employee bathrooms. You’re less likely to find, ah, these things there.”

These things, like his best friend’s doing a split on a pole with his junk dangling, and hard. He resists to slap his head. It’s not the act that bothers him, plenty of respectable, intelligent people like Eren strip for money, but the fact that Eren enjoys being seen for display is going to be the death of him. Armin’s figured out Eren was a stripper awhile ago when he kept paying for his share of the rent in small bills bound together by a rubber band. Armin doesn’t want to know what Eren does to get by. He just never wants to believe it when Eren’s said he was an exhibitionist. He’s been friends with Eren like forever, and this secret has been kept long enough for even him. They had grown up to together. They are practically brother. Though in Eren defense, he knew he was an exhibitionist since he started this job. Armin doesn’t pry Eren. He just leaves it like that. It’s been a month since Eren coming out to him. But he doesn’t know why he should come to see him in action.

Thank god for a tall, bulky and handsome bartender who understands his pain.

“Are you here with someone?” the bartender asks.

“Yeah.” With that sexy brunette in heels on the pole, he thinks. “A friend.”

Armin downs his shot too quickly. The bartender smiles and refills his drink. Armin asks, “How’s my tab looking?” He must be four, maybe five drinks by now.

“I was told you could buy whatever you want. Someone is covering your tab.”

“Who?”

“Him.” The bartender cocks his head. Armin looks down the bar and sees a man lift his glass in acknowledgment. Armin has no idea who the hell he is. In the lighting, the man looks like a shadow. He’s attractive, young but looks strong, and Armin wonders if it’s the lights making his eyes glow that strange shade of golden.

This is not happening. He is not getting picked up at the club Eren works at.

Armin sips at his drink, feeling drunker than he was five minutes ago. The bartender leaves, smiling at him before he goes. Less than a minute later; there’s a man leaning against the bar next to him, pressed too close to Armin for the action to be anything but sexual. The stranger radiates heat to his comfort-zone.

“You’re welcome for picking up your tab, by the way. You don’t look like you could afford this place,” the man smirks.

Armin glares daggers at him. “Have you been watching on me?”

“Yes.” The man, apparently, has no shame. “Trust me. I’m not the only one staring at you.”

Armin swirls the drink in his glass, debating whether to ignore this guy or indulge him.

“I’m Jean. What’s your name?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. What’s your name?”

He doesn’t know why he says it, but he does, “Arlert.”

“Just your last name?” Jean, if that’s even his real name, smiles. He fingers at the rim of Armin’s drink. “That’s fine. I get it. This isn’t your kind of place and I’m a little too forward.”

“Please, ‘A little’ is an understatement.”

Jean laughs. “I kinda like you. You’re funny.”

“Are you seriously hitting on me?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

Armin gets a good look at this guy. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but Armin doubts that anyone would ever call Jean unattractive. There’s something about the way he holds himself, the way his sandy blond hair just barely falls over his almost golden eyes, and the way he smiles at Armin that makes him easy on the eyes.

“It’s Armin.”

“Armin,” Jean says, letting the name roll off his tongue. He grins deviously. Armin can’t look away from his eyes. “I like it.”

Fuck it. He’s drunk and Jean’s hot.

“So, Jean,” Armin says. He downs his drink in one go; then sets the glass down and pushes it away. “Are you going to take me home or not?”

Armin leaves the club after writing a note to Eren on a napkin and passing it to the bartender, telling him to give it to ‘Rogue’ when he’s done on stage. Jean drives a sporty red car that looks like a death trap and is parked in the garage down the street, the same one Eren is parked in. Armin watches as Jean opens driver’s door.

“So? Enchanted by my beauty? Come on in,” Jean smugly raises his brow.

Armin shrugs and opens the door. He doesn’t want to make this hot guy satisfy just yet.

Jean grins when he sits himself. He then revs the engine and drives off. Armin is aware that Jean could be a serial killer or a sadistic bastard, and that he may end up dead in a ditch come morning; or in the hospital with some weird rash, but Jean not so hostile eye-fucking him, he thinks it would be worth the death. Poor him for having a bad taste of guy.

They park in luxury apartment complex. Armin doesn’t even have a chance to take a good view about these sky scraper buildings. Jean takes his hand and he follows him wander to the elevator. They wait about a minute to reach the twelfth floor. Armin can feel Jean’s hand kind of sweaty but he doesn’t feel gross about it. He smiles at their interlock hands; he’s not the only one who feels nervous. Once they’re through the door, Jean spins around and slams him to it, covering Armin’s mouth with his own. Jean holds his jaw and his hip, putting his leg between Armin’s and holding it there while they devour each other’s lips.

“You’re not doing this ‘cause I paid for your drinks, right?” Jean asks, his breathing uneven.

Armin tries to catch his breath, then he squints his eyes at him. “I’m not a whore.”

“You look good enough to be one.”

“Shut up. You talk too much.”

Jean slides his hand from Armin’s jaw up into his hair, pulling Armin’s head forward until they’re kissing again. There’s less tongue and it only lasts for a second. Jean backs away, curling his fingers to tell Armin to follow as he dances back into the apartment. Jean takes off his shirt slowly like a bad stripper. Armin giggles, blames on it from his low tolerance alcohol, and walks forward until Jean takes him by the wrist.

Armin is being turned around when they reach the bedroom and the back of his knees hit the mattress, knocking him onto his back. Jean stands at the edge of the bed between Armin’s legs and continues to strip, slowly. Jean is covered in well-defined muscles that curve and stretch as he dances, he’s moving just right to show off his body. His pants hit the floor, he jumps on top of Armin, straddling him and devouring him.

Jean’s lips are warm and rough on his neck. Armin thrusts his hips up, trying to get some friction against his erection, but Jean doesn’t push back.

“Come on,” Armin groans. “Are you having problems getting it up or something? And I thought you had something to back up that cocky attitude from earlier.”

“I was going to be slow, but if that’s what you want…”

Jean presses his groin into Armin’s hips so sudden that Armin gasps at the hard heat against his body. They only separated by thin layers of clothes which Armin really wishes are not there. The other male grins against Armin’s neck, he can feel it. He marks Armin where he has no hope of hiding it. Armin doesn’t care, for now.

“Can I fuck you?” Jean hisses into his neck.

“Only if you do it hard."

“I can do that.”

Armin is lost in a daze of lips and hot skin. He’s stripped naked, thighs spread shamelessly wide, and Jean's kneeling between them. Jean presses into him with skilled fingers until Armin is cursing and riding back against his fingers with broken moans, he does notice that Jean’s fingers are lubricated but he doesn’t know when he put that. Armin threatens to kick the idiot upside his head when Jean keeps teasing his inside. Jean laughs at that, hooking his fingers to make Armin cry, loud.

Jean’s finally inserted his hard aching cock into his entrance, in a hard thrust. It is better than anything Armin’s had in like years. The ribs on the condom and alcohol in his system make Armin moan loudly. Jean stares at him with blown out eyes and Armin can’t return his intense gaze, like he wants to devour Armin alive. The hands on his hips are bruising strong, holding Armin still while he’s thrusting into with animalistic abandon.

Jean maneuvers Armin’s legs until they’re wrapped tightly around his waist. It’s deep, and rough, and so damn hot that Armin think he’s going to explode instead of come. He’s too close to his orgasm to care how he looks right now, rutting back against Jean’s cock and head thrown back, throat exposed, chest flushed red. Jean grabs his cock and Armin comes between them, clinging tightly onto Jean, moaning his name from deep in his chest.

“Fuck, don’t get so tight,” Jean says.

“Nooo,” Armin replies between breath.

Jean’s thrust becomes slower and deeper. Armin’s pretty sensitive and Jean keeps pumping his cock, thus making Armin crying and screaming like mad. Jean comes with a loud moan. He kisses Armin’s jaw, then neck, leaving another mark close to the first. He holds the base of the condom when he pulls out, tying it off at the bottom and tossing it into a bin near the edge of the bed. Jean flops down onto his back next to Armin, tilting his head to kiss the corner of his mouth.

Armin wants to kiss back, but he’s too fucked out to move. When’s the last time he got off from penetration? Jean senses Armin’s lack of energy and props himself up to kiss Armin properly, languidly, on the mouth before lying down next to him. He kisses with a lot of tongue, which Armin doesn’t particularly mind.

Jean rubs a hand up and down Armin’s chest, ignoring his cum, and smiling whenever Armin shivers from over sensation. His touch is teasing, sexual.

“Do you want to stay the night?” Jean asks.

“I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.”

Jean laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Jean reaches down for the sheets, covering them both. He curls onto his side, face pressed to Armin’s arm, and they fall asleep like that.

-

Armin wakes up alone, stretching his limbs out in every direction and wishing his hips don’t hurt as much as they do. It’s late morning, or early afternoon, he isn’t sure. He gets up, tugs on his boxers, and leaves to find the owner of the apartment. The apartment is rather big, oh how he feels really bad for his small room that he owns with Eren. The bedroom, which finally he could see clearly, is pretty decent, though decent is under-statement. The décor is good, Jean sure has good taste. A big TV nailed on the wall, a king sized mattress which they had fucked last night, a door that probably leads to a bathroom. 

He slowly, because it’s itching everywhere, walks outside the room to find Jean is in the kitchen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, and Armin stares at the dip at the bottom of his back between the cheeks of his ass and the way his back muscles strain tightly against his broad shoulders. Armin stops staring like some kind of pervert.

“Morning,” Jean says, leaning against the counter to look at him. The front looks even better. “Breakfast?”

There’s a plate with four waffles and a cup of orange juice sitting on a dirty counter.

“You made these?” Armin asks.

“If by ‘made’ you mean putting them in the toaster, then yes, I made them.”

Armin doesn’t know whether to roll his eyes or smile. He does both. He sits on a stool at the kitchen counter in front of the plate.

Jean pulls another four waffles out of the toaster, tossing them onto a plate and licking his burned fingers. He jumps up onto the counter, sitting a few feet from Armin, who eats quietly.

What do you do in situations like this?

I should have run when he fell asleep last night, Armin thinks.

“You need a ride home?” Jean asks. He picks up a waffle, burns himself, drops it, and then repeats until he’s able to get a bite. Jean looks at him with those beautiful hazel eyes.

“I have enough money for the bus,” Armin says.

“I’m not letting you blow money on a ride home when I can take you home for free.”

Armin finishes his last waffle and says, “Fine, whatever.”

Armin gets up to find the rest of his clothes. His shirt is pressed inside of the sheets and his jeans are on the floor near the nightstand. Armin slips into the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up with a washcloth he finds neatly tucked on the sink, and dresses with the door locked. There’s a surprising amount of product in the bathroom: name brand hair gel and spray, fancy lotion that smells like apples, and expensive exotic soap which Armin uses to get the dry cum off his stomach. Really, Jean must be some rich bastard, or maybe just a narcissistic bastard, just because he doesn’t want to make a better judgment of a person who picked him on a drag club. 

Jean changes into jeans and puts on a shirt before they leave together. He notices that this apartment is in Trost, and they’re high class apartment. He feels sorry for Jean because he lives in a pretty bad district.

“Isn’t that near the campus?” Jean asks. “You’re a student? Shit, how old are you?”

Armin rolls his eyes. “My roommate’s a grad student. I never even went to university, and I’m twenty-two. Do I look like jail bait to you?”

Jean laughs easily, like this isn’t awkward at all. “It’s hard to tell when you have an ass like that.”

Compared to last night, Jean is a significantly better driver. He goes slower, takes the turns a little easier, and doesn’t keep shifting around like he’s trying to impress Armin. The drive doesn’t take as long as Armin expected.

Jean stops in front of Armin’s building and Armin bucks his belt, but Jean grabs his wrist.

“Come ‘ere.”

He gently tugs on Armin’s wrist, making Armin closer to him. Armin gets what Jean wants and leans down, kissing him slowly, pressing his tongue against Jean’s plump lower lip. Jean hums into the kiss, then pulls back and smirks at Armin. 

“See you around, Armin.”

Armin goes inside. Without so much thinking about how weird last night was.

-

Eren grins at him from the sofa when he walks in. Armin isn’t startled nor is he surprised when he sees Eren in his boxers and a sickly green facial mask, hair pushed back with a thick hairband. Apparently whatever the hell is on his face keeps his pores from clogging up after he cakes on makeup for his shows. Armin thinks he looks like a gay witch.

Eren is quick to say, “I’m digging the ‘Got Laid Parade’ walk you’ve got going on.”

“Stop calling it that,” Armin says. There is no pride in what he did, only shame, not that that’s a bad thing. He feels dirty and a little used, but he doesn’t dislike it. He sits next to Eren on the sofa, glancing at the television to see what he’s watching.

“I want details,” Eren says. “Reiner didn’t tell me who you left with.”

“Reiner?”

“The bartender. So who was it? Was he hot?”

“He was nobody. Just some guy at the bar.”

“Come on. Was he good? Did you get off? Armin, don’t leave me hanging.”

“He was nobody. Just a one night stand.”

Armin gets up and goes into his room where Eren can’t bother him.

-

For the next three weeks, Armin goes on with his life. He wakes up and drags himself to work, drinking convenience store coffee to stay awake on the bus so he doesn’t miss his stop. He works at a little library. He’s worked at Rose Library for years. Though he doesn’t have any degree for library science, he gets the job pretty easily. His late grandfather has given him this job. He loves his job, but not for his co-workers. They do not like Armin much, because they keep avoiding him whenever they shift switch. 

During his lunch break, he changes clothes and goes across the street to a small restaurant. He sits in the isolated booth in the back, reads a book just like always, and eats by himself. Sometimes Eren will join him if he doesn’t have class, but that rarely happens. Still, there’s something very calming about sitting in the back by himself and he doesn't mind it in the least.

He knows his life is boring, but there’s not much he can do to change it. The most exciting to happen to him all year has been sleeping with Jean, which isn’t much in the grand scheme of things. People his age do much wilder, crazier things than sleep with the hottest man in the drag club. Still, even by Armin’s standards, sleeping with Jean was not a big deal. Nothing would change if he hasn’t done it. Therefore, it isn’t a big deal.

He lives off of nasty tap water and cheap microwave food that tastes like plastic. His work pays his share of the rent and groceries, and he even has a little bit put away in his savings. He doesn’t know what he’s saving for, but Eren is always talking about financial security and shit, so Armin tries to save a little when he can. Not that when he wants books, he’s spent his saving mostly for books which he can actually read on his work for free.

It’s not the life he expected at all, but it’s the life he’s stuck with.

-

On Sunday night, Eren convinces Armin to come out to the club again. Armin goes when Eren promises to pay for his drinks and when he realizes that he may see Jean again, he feels nervous all over again. Eren drives them in a crappy car and gets Armin in past the bouncer even though the club isn’t open yet.

“I gotta get ready for my shift,” Eren says. “Try and have fun!”

“Whatever.”

Eren leaves to dress up like a girl.

Armin drinks and talks with the bartender until people begin to come in and the bartender has to work. Armin sits by himself, resting his weight on his arms on the bar, and paces himself so he doesn’t get wasted. By eight o’clock, people are beginning to dance on stage, but they’re all amateurs. An hour later, the regulars take the stage. Armin turns to watch when he hears Eren’s stage name called out.

He regrets watching. Eren is in a matching corset and skirt with thigh high fishnet stockings, and he’s wearing copious amounts of makeup. Seeing Eren split on stage and grab small bills with his teeth feels invasive. Eren has no shame and puts every hard-earned dollar towards paying off his massive pile of student loans, but it feels wrong anyways. Armin looks away when Eren begins to do lewd things on the damn pole.

Twenty minutes later, Eren comes over and sits next to Armin at the bar. He’s still dressed as ‘Rogue’, meaning half the people around them are staring, but Eren doesn’t seem to care. The club has strict no-touching rules and the bouncers hidden in the shadow to deter any drunken clients.

This close, Armin can see the amount of effort that Eren puts into his stage makeup—red lipstick, powdery rogue, and fake eyelashes with winged eyeliner so perfect that it would make girls jealous.

“Do you see him?” Eren asks. “That’s why you came, isn’t it? For him.”

“No.” Armin doesn’t know why he sounds so bitter.

“Was he that good?”

“Shut up.”

This is stupid. He's stupid. Jean is probably at some other bar picking up drunk guys and taking them home for a quick fuck. Armin figures he’s just one night in a chain of dozens who have fallen for his stupid pick-ups lines and his flirty smile.

Armin downs his drink. Eren waves over the bartender.

The music dims as a man with a rough voice introduces the next dancer, some guy named ‘Kirsch’. Armin looks up, he’s curious because that’s the strangest stage name he’s heard all night.

The stage darkens and the music slows to something more sensual as the stripper comes out. He walks onto the stage like he owns it, like he owns the whole damn club. Fake sandy blond hair falls around his shoulders and frames his makeup-covered face. The man is wearing less than Eren does when coming out on stage, which means he’s practically naked. Thigh high, lacy black stockings are held up his built thighs by a garter that attaches to a lacy piece of fabric just above the waist of his underwear.

When Kirsch reaches the pole at the center of the stage, he grabs the pole with his right hand and flashes the crowd an easy smile. Armin can’t breathe.

“Oh my god,” Armin says.

“What?”

“That’s him. That’s the guy.”

Eren looks at the stage, then at Armin and laughs. “Holy fuck! You slept with a stripper! Not just any stripper, Kirsch.”

Suddenly, Jean’s lower body is twisting up with the beat and his legs tangle effortlessly with the pole. Armin stares while the crowd roars its approval. He watches like he’s in a trance as Jean dances up on stage. He’s movements are less acrobatic than Eren’s but more fun, less rigid and structured like Eren’s routine. When Jean gets on his hands and knees to crawl seductively towards a man, letting the stranger stuff bills into his underwear, Armin can’t take his eyes away, even when Jean leans forward to kiss the man sloppily on the cheek.

Jean gets back on his feet flawlessly, like he’s not in six-inch heels. He stands with his back to the pole, teasing the crowd by playing with the hem of his underwear and the clips of his garter, like he may take them off. He doesn’t. He reaches up behind him, grabbing the pole over his head. Jean smiles and Armin realizes that he’s looking at him.

Shit. Why is that turning him on?

Armin watches as Jean slides down, spreading his legs, staring straight at him for the entire time like the entire show is for him. Armin barely remembers the rest of the routine after that.

The song ends too soon and Jean leaves the stage.

“We’re going backstage,” Eren says suddenly. He downs his shot of tequila—when did the bartender come over?—and grabs Armin’s wrist.

“No,” Armin says.

“Come on, Armin, you have to go and see him. That was hot as fuck. I’m a little turned on and watching other dancers never turns me on.”

“No,” Armin repeats.

“I need to take my makeup off.”

“Don’t you have lap dances to do?”

“I’m taking the rest of the night off. Come with me while I take off my make up.”

“Do it without me.”

Eren is stronger than he looks—because obviously he wears girly doesn’t mean he’s weak and dancing on a pole will do that—and Armin is dragged backstage where Eren sits at his station. It’s a little desk covered in makeup containers with a large mirror next to a rack of scandalous clothes in a variety of dark and flamboyant colors. Eren sits on a stool, grabbing a washcloth and a container of makeup remover. Armin stands awkwardly, trying not to look for Jean’s station while people run by, adjusting bras and underwear and makeup.

Suddenly, there’s a pair of large, warm hands on his shoulders and Armin remembers how Jean had held him while he’s fucked him senseless. Jean’s breath is hot against his ear when he whispers, “I got hard when I saw you. I thought I was going to pop out of my thong.”

Armin grins despite himself. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Eren watches them from his mirror.

Armin turns and Jean’s face is naked but a little red, like he scrubbed off his makeup too quickly. His hair is matted slightly from the wig he had been wearing. He’s wearing his leather jacket and a pair of jeans like he had the night when they had first met. Even without the makeup and clothes, Jean looks tempting, like he could take the stage again. Something about that makes Armin undeniably hot.

“Do you want to go get coffee?” Jean asks, smiling easily.

“You’re paying,” Armin says.

“Okay.”

Jean shoves his hand into the back of Armin’s pants, groping his ass and pressing the sides of their hips together. Armin doesn’t fight him.

“See you tomorrow,” Eren says, laughing.

-

Jean drives them to a coffee shop near to his apartment. They sit at a table by the window with warm mugs of decaf coffee, sharing an oversized chocolate scone that melts in his mouth, their feet knocking under the table. Jean’s foot inches up with ill intentions, pressing into Armin’s thigh as he smiles. They don’t talk, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Jean hums a song while he plays with his phone, waiting for Armin to finish.

When they get back to Jean’s car, Jean opens the shotgun door for him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Armin asks before he enters, “Where are we going?”

“My apartment.”

“You think that you can buy me coffee and I’ll let you fuck me?”

“That was the plan.”

-

Before they reach a bedroom, Jean presses him against the door, again, and drops to his knees. He sucks at Armin through his underwear before pulling away the fabric and taking the head of his cock into his mouth. His lipstick stained lips stretch wide across Armin who wraps his hand into Jean’s hair, messing it up just because he can. He tests his limits by rolling his hips when Jean takes him down his throat, but Jean doesn’t stop, only looks up at him with slightly damp golden eyes. Jean moans and lets Armin fuck his mouth until he comes.

Armin gets hard again when Jean shoves him onto the bed, kissing him with desperate swollen lips. Jean fucks him from behind, one hand tangled painfully tight in his hair and the other on his cock. Armin rocks back against him, listens to the sound of their slick skin hitting. Jean’s pace is unforgiving as he drives into him hard, and Armin hasn’t been fucked so hard in ages that he feels light headed from it all.

-

Armin stays the night again, legs wrapped around Jean’s under cheap sheets. This time, when he wakes up, Jean is still asleep next to him. He sits up and stretches, staring at the naked man next to him. Jean makes little noises when he breathes and his hair is messier than it was last night. Armin plays with his under-cut slowly.

“What are you doing?” Jean asks voice thick with sleep.

“Seeing your weird cut hair."

Jean smiles for some reason turning to kiss Armin’s naked hip. Armin sighs contently. He runs a hand through Jean’s hair when he continues to pepper kisses along his exposed skin.

“Breakfast?” Jean suggests.

“Hmm. Toaster waffles?”

“Toaster pancakes.”

“Even better.”

Armin is the first to get up and out of the bed, stretching again once he's on his feet. He bends down to get his shirt, yelping when a hand swats his bare ass hard enough to sting. Jean laughs and runs into the kitchen, picking up his underwear when he goes.

Armin sits at the counter and Jean sits on the counter while they eat partially frozen blueberry pancakes.

“So what do you do?” Jean asks. He sounds like a curious child, looks like one too. Because he has syrup on his chin, it’s so adorable. “Like, for work?”

“I work as a librarian,” Armin says.

Jean grins mischievously. “Well, you do look like a kinky nerd.”

Armin rolls his eyes. There’s something about Jean that makes this, whatever this is, easy. Armin watches Jean eat syrup-drenched pancakes with his bare hands. He can’t believe he’s had those things in his ass before.

“Do you do anything besides dance?” Armin asks.

“I pick up shifts at a coffee shop when business is slow. Most of my money comes from dancing, though.” Jean smiles at him and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I’m pretty good, huh?”

“You’re alright.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t dancing last night.”

“Next time.”

Armin still doesn’t know if he wants it to be a next time.

Jean drives him home. Armin quickly unbuckled the belt, goes out, and runs inside before Jean can ask for a kiss.

-

A week later, not that Armin counts, he gets a text during his lunch break: Wanna get dinner?

Armin figures it’s Jean. He responds: How did you get this number?

Rogue gave it to me last night. It looked like you guys knew each other. So dinner?

Pick me up at seven.

He doesn’t have anything productive beside read anyway, he thinks.

\- 

Jean takes him to a cheap twenty-four hour dinner with all day breakfast food and damn good milkshakes. Armin watches the man eat like he’s starving, stuffing his cheeks full until they puff out like chipmunk cheeks. Armin smiles at the thought and refuses to tell Jean what he’s thinking when he notices.

An hour later, they’re back at Jean’s playing a shitty shooter RPG and tossing insults back and forth without thinking. Armin figures this is Jean’s way of saying that they don’t need to have sex if he doesn’t want to. The problem is that sex works for them. They’re not friends or lovers, they’re fuck buddies. Sex is what they do.

On the last stretch of their mission, Armin drops his controller, moving to straddle Jean’s lap. He places his hands firmly on Jean’s chest and leans down, kissing and nipping at the warm skin on his neck. Jean hums, happy at the change of pace, and grabs Armin just below his ribs. Jean’s hands are large enough to make Armin feel smaller.

“Your hair tickles,” Jean says suddenly, laughing.

“Yeah?” Armin shakes his head against Jean’s neck, listening to the man laugh. Armin can’t help but smile into warm skin.

“Stop it.”

“Well, what should I do instead? Because this is pretty entertaining."

“Kiss me.”

Armin kisses Jean on the lips, slower than he ever has before, more calculating, like this suddenly matters. He feels hot all over and wonders if Jean feels the same. He rolls down against Jean’s groin until he feels the familiar press of his hardening erection. When he breaks away, he drops to his knees under Jean’s heated gaze, and makes quick work of Jean’s belt.

“Armin,” he says, cradling Armin’s chin in his hand. “You don’t have to.”

Armin doesn’t care. He wants to do it.

Armin takes out Jean’s cock, tonguing gently at the sides and the slit. Jean has always been loud, moaning and whispering nonsense during the heat of it, and now is no exception. He makes small breathy noises as he runs a hand through Armin’s hair. Armin hollows his cheeks and slides down as far as he can, lapping at the underside of Jean’s cock and head bobbing. The grip in his hair becomes tighter, more demanding, and Jean’s voice becomes deep, rough.

“Oh, shit,” Jean says. “Just like that. You look so good on my cock.”

Armin flushes red, a mixture of embarrassment and pride driving his blood down to his own groin. He focuses on controlling his gag reflex and his teeth while listening to Jean’s noises. He reaches up to the hand tangled in his hair and urges Jean to hold on tighter. Armin gasps when the man complies, pulling on his hair and gently rolling his hips up.

“Can I come in your mouth?” he’s blunt like always.

Armin doesn’t waste time answering. He picks up his pace; letting Jean guide his head up and down at the pace he wants. He knows Jean’s about to come when he nearly tears Armin’s hair from its roots before coming hard halfway down Jean’s throat. Armin swallows then pulls off of his softening cock.

“Fuck,” Jean laughs, rubbing his thumb over a stray drop of cum near Armin’s mouth. Armin turns his head to suck on Jean’s thumb. “Come ‘ere.”

Armin sits on Jean’s thighs, but is swiftly thrown onto his back down the length of the sofa. Jean crawls up to him, and Armin thinks of how hot Jean looks when crawling on stage, and he moans before Jean even reaches his pants. Jean palms at the bulge in his jeans, smirking.

“Did sucking me off turn you on that much?” Jean asks. “You’re hard.”

“Shut up,” Armin’s face flushes red.

He makes quick work of Armin’s belt, pants, and underwear. He pulls them down over the curve of his ass, then to his knees, and wraps his hand firmly around Armin’s needy erection. Jean hovers over the length of Armin’s body, hand just right around Armin’s cock, and kisses him when he comes.

-

Armin spends most days bent in half. Unfortunately, it’s time for job, he needs to keep his ass on the sit other than listing the book. It is never as fun being bent in half at Jean’s apartment. There are days where he’s sore in places he didn’t know he could be sore, but he pushes through the pain and keep going to work because he needs the money for this month’s rent. He begins to wonder if the pain is worth it.

He knows it is, but he feels better morally when he debates it. He doesn’t need to remind himself that Jean’s became his needs.

Armin goes to the same little restaurant he always does for lunch, but his usual spot is taken so he sits near the front next to a window. He pulls out his book, orders his normal meal, and begins to read.

He’s had just been served his food when someone slips into the chair across from him. Jean smiles at him, looking completely innocent, but it’s the same smile he has when he fingers Armin and goes down on him. There’s nothing innocent about that.

“Are you stalking me?” Armin skeptically looking at him.

“Maybe.” Jean grins for a few seconds, teasing, before saying, “No. There’s a music shop next door that I like to go to sometimes. I saw you from the window and thought I’d fuck with you a little.”

Is that what Armin is to Jean? A plaything to fuck with? To fuck?

Armin finishes his sandwich in relative silence even though Jean stays seated across from him. Jean slides his foot up Armin’s calf, looking at him like he’s the most fascinating thing in the world, but doesn’t say a word.

-

The next time Armin sees him, it’s a week later at the club. Eren needs money for new textbooks for next semester and since he refuses to take Armin’s savings, Eren is picking up extra dance slots and doing lap dances to cover the cost.

“If I have to dance with twenty random strangers and get my ass groped, I’m going to need to be drunk,” Eren has said when he’s approached Armin in the apartment. “And I’m not driving drunk.”

Armin caves and drives Eren’s car to the club. They see Jean’s car in the parking garage and Eren says that Kirsch is working tonight before Armin finds the guts to ask. Jean has texted Armin twice since they’d ran into each other last week, and both were obvious booty calls.

I got a new video game if you wanna play. You could spend the night.

Wanna come over?

Armin doesn’t respond to either.

While Eren does his routine up at the pole, paying more attention than usual to the customers for extra bills and to get them to pay for his private dances, Armin sits at the bar. Everyone in the club is getting drunk, turned on, or picked up except for him. He drinks half-flat soda and is not approached by anyone.

When Eren begins to pull men into the back for private dances, Kirsch takes the stage. He’s in tall, high-heel boots, the hair of his wig pulled up into a ponytail, and he takes control of the entire room in an instant. Out of all of the people he could look at, all of the people who could stuff bills down his thong if he winked or smiled the right way, Jean chooses to look at Armin. He looks flirty when he slowly licks his lips then laughs. He looks hot when he wraps his legs around the pole. He looks irresistible when he begins to take off his clothes. By the end of his routine, he’s left only in his boots and underwear, the rest of his clothes tossed towards the back of the stage to be collected later. Bills stick out of his lacy thong. Armin could not find it in him to care.

Jean takes the stage three more times in the next hour, collecting more and more bills, and becoming more and more scandalous each time. He comes out in different outfits each time. By the end of his last song, people are chanting for him to take off what’s left of his clothes. Jean laughs, touching his chest seductively, and playfully says, “Should I?” He looks at Armin. Perverts toss money at him. Armin suddenly cares.

He shakes his head, short.

Jean cocks his head to the side, licks his lips slowly, and looks at the crowd. He walks around the stage, bills sticking to the bottom of his heels, strutting with exaggerated swings of his hips. When his back is to the crowd, he rolls down the string of his underwear beneath the curve of his ass, but does not take it off. The crowd doesn’t care. Jean laughs loud enough for Armin to hear, then disappears backstage.

Armin pretends he isn’t hard. He wishes his coke had rum in it, but Eren gave the bartender strict instructions not to give Armin anything remotely alcoholic tonight.

Jean comes out in his street clothes without his makeup and wig, smiling. He whispers hotly into Armin’s ear and then they’re out the door.

They fuck in the backseat of Eren’s run down car. Armin rides Jean as hard and fast as he can, relishing the way Jean’s hands grip at his hips and the way he looks like he’s about to fall apart at the seams. Needing more, Armin arches his back and reaches down, grasping his own cock while Jean watches, rapt with lust. Armin grinds down faster, hard, until his knees ache and thighs shake with effort, then Jean begins to thrust up to meet his moving hips. Armin tosses his head back as Jean fucks him, meeting him movement for movement. 

Jean finally comes with a loud moan that vibrates through Armin’s entire body, sending him over the edge. Armin shakes as he comes over his hand and onto Jean’s chest, wondering why he’s still doing this. Why Jean.

Armin collapses against Jean’s chest, nosing his throat as he tries to catch his breath. Jean is warm and naked under him, his hands rubbing up and down Armin’s back.

“Fuck,” Jean breathes. “That was good.”

“I guess.”

“You guess? You were begging me not to stop.”

Jean stops rubbing his back. Armin wishes he could see his face.

“Does it bother you?” Jean asks, serious. “That I take off my clothes for a living? You looked really mad at the end.”

“That’s what this is about?” Armin pulls himself up to look Jean in the eyes. He speaks without hesitation, “I don’t care if you strip, just don’t fucking tease me like that.”

Jean looks hurt. “Tease you? You’re the one who didn’t respond to my texts.”

Armin doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything at all.

Armin feels Jean’s hand in his hair, warm and familiar. He tilts his head into the touch, urging Jean to continue, humming happily when he does. Their eyes meet and don’t move. If they weren’t in a car that smelled like sex, sweat, and old take out, Armin would be content to stay like that. 

“I should go,” Armin finally says.

“Wanna go back to my place?” Jean asks, sounding hopeful.

“Can’t. I’m driving Eren home. He’s giving drunken lap dances.”

“Those are the worst.” Jean sits up, bringing a contently fucked-out Armin with him and holding him in his lap. Armin wraps his arms around Jean’s neck so he doesn’t fall backwards. Jean says, “Next time, answer my texts. I like hanging out with you.”

Armin kisses him instead of promising.

-

Armin spends lazy weekends at Jean’s playing videos, ordering take out, and fucking. Jean sings loudly (and it’s actually good) in the shower, and likes to dance naked right above him when he refuses to get out of bed on rainy Sunday mornings. Somewhere between showering together and Jean bringing him breakfast in bed, they cross the line. This isn’t just fucking anymore and it scares Armin more than anything. Still, they don’t stop.

The night before, they fucked three times before Armin rolled away to the other side of the bed, shaking with oversensitivity, and Jean finally seemed sedated from his orgasm. In the morning, Armin showers while Jean makes breakfast in the other room, then Jean drives him back to his apartment. When Jean parks instead of just stopping, Armin stares at him.

“What are you doing?” Armin asks.

“Coming in with you,” Jean says, not asking. “I want to see where you live.”

Armin can’t come up for a reason for him not to come in quick enough. Jean’s looking back at Armin expectedly. Armin sighs, but gives in.

Once inside, Armin calls out, “Eren? Are you here?”

Eren is sitting at the dining table with his books spread out in front of him. He doesn’t look up, just says, “Your new glasses came in the mail.”

“You wear glasses?” Jean asks. “That’s kinda hot. Show ‘em to me next time.”

Eren looks up, startled at the sound of Jean’s voice. “What the fuck?” Eren asks. He turns his eyes to Armin and smiles. “Oh.”

“Shut up,” Armin says.

Jean lets himself wander, running his hand along the length of the back of the sofa and gazing at the closed doors to their bedrooms. He looks around their shitty little apartment, taking in the grape juice stain on the sofa, the dirty dishes piled in the sink, and their mismatched dining chairs. The entire time, there is no judgment on his face. Armin feels relieved.

“Where do you sleep?” Jean asks.

Armin shows him his room. It’s small and his desk is empty save a laptop, but there isn’t a single misplaced object or piece of dirty laundry. Jean smiles as if he’s just happy seeing where Armin lives. Armin doesn’t get it, but he lets Jean have his stupid moment.

“It fits you.”

“Of course it does,” Armin replies. “I live here.”

Jean laughs. Armin dodges the hand that goes to playfully slap his ass. Jean pouts, but doesn’t chase Armin like he usually does when they’re naked.

“I should get going," Jean says.

“Yeah. Probably.”

They go back out into the main room and Eren is obviously waiting for them. He watches them curiously. When he realizes Jean is leaving, he says, “See you later, Kirsch.”

“My name’s Jean, by the way.”

Eren shrugs, a physical manifestation of his mental what the hell, and he says, “Eren.”

Jean grins. “Cool. See you at work.”

Jean kisses Armin chastely on the lips, whispers, “Call me,” and lets himself out. Armin watches him drive away on his black sport car before turning around. Eren has a shit-eating grin.

“Shut up,” Armin grumbles again before locking himself in his room.

He nearly smoothers his face in his pillows. Jean Kirstein. The name makes his chest heavy and he doesn’t know why.

-

Armin gets the text on his day off: Let’s get lunch! My treat. I’ll be at your place in ten.

Do I have a say in this?

No.

Are you texting when you drive?

I’m at a light. I’m not THAT stupid.

I beg to differ.

Armin changes out of his sweatpants because Jean always looks so good and if they’re going out in public together, Armin doesn’t want to look like a total slob. It’s not because he wants to impress him regardless of what Eren says when he walks out the door. Jean is smiling at him when he reaches the park. The door of his seat is opened already. He sits himself and buckled his belt.

They eat in a sketchy shop hidden in an alley downtown. The place looks like an old pub and is lighted by dainty string lights that are easy on the eyes. Jean practically glows when he smiles and holds the door open for Armin.

It’s not their usual place—this place doesn’t look like there’s ever been a deep fryer or a pancake within a mile radius. They’re seated in a booth in the back near some important looking business people and a young couple. Armin feels embarrassingly underdressed. Stranger still, Jean seems to know the owner because the head chef comes out to greet them personally and recommend what’s good. Jean tells the chef to surprise them.

The proportions are small, the food looks delicate, and it’s the best thing Armin’s ever had in his life. When their dessert is brought out along with cups of coffee, Armin realizes that there’s no way he can afford this. Armin wonders if they’ll have to dine and dash. But then again, Jean lives in a very luxury apartment.

But when a waiter brings them a check, the chef tells them it’s on the house and makes Jean promise to swing by for a beer now and again. Armin has no idea how the hell Jean knows someone who deserves to work in a five-star restaurant, but he doesn’t fight it. He’s tempted to lick the dessert plate clean, but Jean does before he can.

They walk together towards Jean’s car. Winter is coming and the air feels colder, bitterer. They walk close to one another. Armin rubs his hands together while Jean opens his door.

“Do you want me to drop you off at your place?” Jean asks.

“We’re not going back to yours?”

Armin assumed this was a booty call. He’s almost disappointed.

“Nah. I’ve got work soon. Just wanted to see you.”

It hits Armin like a ton of bricks.

“Are we dating?” Armin blurts.

“I thought that was obvious.”

Armin wants to scream. Instead he hides his panic, nods once, slow, and says, “I should go home. I have to do laundry before work tomorrow or else I’m going to library naked.”

“I’d like to see that.”

When Jean drops him off, he grabs Armin by the waist and waits for his kiss. Armin hides the blush on his cheeks, leans on to him, and kisses him goodbye. It’s gentle and completely different from the kisses they share in bed or when they fuck. Armin melts.

After Jean drives off, Armin is left standing without a clue.

-

We don’t have to date if you don’t want to. We can be whatever you want us to be.

Okay.

\- 

Jean meets Armin for lunch when he isn’t sleeping or picking up shifts at the coffee shop. They sit in the back of the restaurant Armin frequents in Armin’s favorite spot, something he’s never thought he would share with anyone, but it seems easy when he’s with Jean. They split the bill, but Jean pays for the overly sweet dessert they share. Armin watches as Jean finishes off the brownie Sunday.

“Why do you strip?” Armin asks arbitrarily. He’s surprised by how quickly Jean changes; he stops playing with Armin’s feet under the table and the spoon nearly falls from his mouth.

“At first it was for the money, but... I like it.” Jean has the same look about him when he walks out onto a stage as Kirsch. He confidently adds, “And I’m good at it.”

“Most people would lie about why they do it.”

“You’re not the person who cares about that shit. I could be some rich CEO and you wouldn’t give a shit. That’s not you.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I know you.”

Jean says it so firmly that Armin cannot argue. There’s a rough silence between them, but it doesn’t last long. Jean continues to eat his Sunday, and goes back to playing footsies with him, and asks if he can do lunch tomorrow. Armin can. They make plans.

Why is this so easy?

-

Armin calls in sick to work and spends the majority of the day in bed, blowing copious amounts of yellow snot into cheap tissues and coughing like a smoker. He stumbles out of bed at noon, wrapped in a blanket and a sweater that’s two sizes too large, and gets a cup of orange juice before retreating to his cocoon blanket. He feels delirious, sweaty, and gross.

When his phone rings, he nearly throws it across the room, but he doesn’t. He coughs deep from his lungs and feels like he’s dying.

“What?” he answers.

“You should come see me dance tonight. I have a new routine,” Jean says. “And I was thinking that afterwards we could go back to my place and fuck.”

“You’re too blunt.”

“I could be more specific, if you want.”

“We’re not having phone sex.”

“Why not? I know you like it when I talk dirty, babe.” Armin shivers from cold, not arousal, and coughs into his hand. “Armin?” Jean’s sounding concerned.

“I can’t come see you dance unless you want to expose the entire city to the black plague.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not and it’s scaring me.”

Armin tries to laugh, but it comes out ragged and uncomfortable. He groans, wiping his nose with a tissue, and says, “I have flu. I just need to rest for a few days and it’ll go away. Eren’s taking care of me.”

They talk for a few more minutes and Armin thinks that’s all he’ll hear from Jean for the next few days.

At two in the morning, Armin is awake and miserable, unable to sleep. He hears Eren come home from the club and gets up, figuring he should probably get some more water anyways. When he gets out to the kitchen he sees a bag on the table and Eren at the fridge.

“What’s in the bag?” Armin asks. "Did you pick up food?"

“Jean gave it to me at the club,” Eren says, head in the fridge while he looks for leftovers that are actually edible. “He said it was for you.”

Armin frowns, looking into the bag. There’s a dozen or so bottles and boxes of over the counter cold medications, a box of Armin’s favorite tea (which has to be luck because how the hell could he have known that?), and a folded up note that reads: Feel better Armin!

“He said he would’ve come here himself if he didn’t think you would kill him.” Armin smiles. Eren sits down at the table and looks at him, then says, “You like him, don’t you? Like, seriously like him.”

Armin stops smiling. “Shut up.”

“You totally do.”

“No.”

“Armin and Kirsch sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I—“

Armin goes back to his room to get his phone. He needs to thank Jean for the medicine.

-

Armin recovers from his bout of flu within three days but is working after two. Winter means they need to use the space heater, which means their utilities bill will be higher, and both Armin and Eren work more hours to compensate. Eren regularly does lap dances, coming back late and smelling like twenty different colognes. Armin grudges the work, but his lunches and nights spent with Jean erase any and all negative thoughts. Armin finds himself sitting at the bar on Friday night while Jean dances on stage. 

Jean slowly lowers himself from the pole, smoothly transitioning into a dominant walk, hips swaying to the beat like they’re made of liquid. He runs his hands through his longhaired wig, rolling his shoulders and looking at Armin like they’re alone in his bedroom. Jean bends over, ass in the air, lifting a customer’s chin up with his index finger as he sings along to the slow, sensual beat. When he comes back up, more bills in his underwear, he smiles at Armin. 

After Jean’s shift at the club, they stumble through Jean’s apartment to the bedroom. Armin is stripped out of his clothes; large hands touch and claw at his heated skin while eager lips assault his mouth and neck. Armin ruts up against Jean, so close to being desperate that he may start begging.

“Jean,” Armin gasps. “I had to watch you dance all night. Come on.”

Instead of reaching for the condom and fucking him senseless, Jean flips Armin onto his stomach. Armin rests his cheek against a pillow, suffocated by Jean’s scent, breathing deeply while he waits for Jean. Large hands grab his hips, pulling him up to his knees. Armin gasps when his cheeks are spread and Jean presses his tongue against him and starts to eat him out. Armin jerks away, but a hand on his hip stops him and reels him back.

“Stop, it’s embarrassing,” Armin hisses. Jean’s tongue presses harder. “Fuck. Jean.”

He can feel Jean smile, and then he dips his tongue inside to taste him, tease him, and Armin closes his eyes and lets it happen. He digs his hand into the matress while Jean swirls his tongue. Armin pushes back against his face, moaning. It’s too hot, too close, too much. It feels far too good. Armin comes, hot flush spreading down his back and thighs, his entire body shaking when Jean comes up to kiss the back of his neck.

-

Happy birthday Armin!

Who the hell told you it was my birthday?

Rogue. I have work tonight but can you meet me at my place after? I’ll leave a spare key in the potted plant by the elevator.

-

Eren drops Armin off at Jean’s apartment before going to work. He raids Jean’s fridge for the leftovers he had forgotten to take with him earlier in the week. He sits on the sofa, eating and watching bad television show, while he’s waiting for Jean to come home. Armin ignores the part of his brain telling him that he should be disturbed by how comfortable he feels at Jean’s.

When Jean comes in through the front door, Armin pretends not to hear him so Jean can sneak up behind him and surprise him with a kiss. Jean grins when he hovers over Armin like Spiderman and Armin smiles too.

“You have a bit of lipstick left,” Armin says.

“Yeah. I lost my stick of bright red so I had to borrow Commander’s, but he didn’t tell me that it sticks unless you put on a base. I did everything short of cutting off my lips to get the damn stuff off.” Jean pauses and plays with Armin’s hair. “Does it bother you?”

“Depends. If I said it was hot, would you hold it against me?”

“Only in bed.”

Armin smiles. Jean kisses him again, quicker than before, and disappears without another word. Armin turns off the television. The dancer returns quickly, jumping onto the sofa to sit next to Armin, and shoves a blue gift bag into his lap.

“Jean—“

“I know that I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. Happy birthday!”

Armin pushes back a few layers of tissue paper and takes out a thick hardcover book. It’s the same as a book that’s hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk, only nicer. His copy is falling apart at the spine and is so faded that it’s barely readable. Armin opens the cover and sees the author’s signature on the copyright page.

Jean smiles, obviously pleased with Jean’s silence, and says, “I have a friend who works in publishing and he knows the author’s editor. I got him to get you a signed copy. Eren said this was your favorite book. Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“Great!” Jean jumps up, heading towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna order pizza. Or do you want take out? It’s up to you.”

That night, they don’t have sex. Instead, they sleep together, the heat of their bodies mingling under the sheets.

-

Armin is half drunk when Jean comes up to the bar in his street clothes, make-up rubbed off and glitter on his fingertips. Armin knows because some nights he’ll find it on his body wherever Jean touches him. Jean leans in close to Armin; body pressed against his where it really matters, and whispers the right string of words to make Armin’s entire body flush with heat.

Jean kisses below his ear. “Come home with me tonight?” 

The answer is yes, a thousand times over. Instead of saying that, Armin nods. 

Jean takes him to bed, spreading him out with his hands, mouth, fingers, and low spoken words that make Armin feel utterly shameless. He takes his time opening Armin up before fucking into him, holding his legs open and making it difficult for Armin to move, to think. Every maddening slow movement of Jean’s hips drives Armin closer and closer, but it’s not enough.

“Come on, Jean,” Armin urges. “Fuck me like you always do, like you promised you would in the club.”

Jean wraps an arm around Armin’s torso and brings him up so they’re sitting, Armin’s in his lap. Their arms wrap around one another but the pace does not quicken. Jean kisses him slowly, tongue pressing into Armin’s mouth gently, like the rolls of his hips that cause Armin to burn from the inside out. It’s still not enough. Nothing will ever be enough, not with the way things are now.

Armin comes, gasping Jean’s name, clinging to him and dragging his lips against his in a slow kiss. Armin smiles and repeats his name over and over, like it’s the only thing keeping him together, “Armin.”

-

In the afterglow, before the soreness and exhaustion sets in, Armin turns on his side to look at Jean’s naked body. His skin is flushed red and covered in Armin’s cum. He looks so fucked out, pupils blown wide and hair tousled, and so inexplicably happy that it makes it hard for Armin to breathe.

“Why’re you staring at me?” Jean asks, smiling. He turns onto his side, mimicking Armin, and curls towards Armin like a small cat, but he obviously not. Fingers gently curl against Armin’s sternum and soft, hot breath hits his skin. Armin swears he can feel Jean’s eyelashes.

“Armin?” Jean says, quiet. “Is everything okay? You’re acting weird.”

“I want to try this, for real.” Armin feels like his lungs are going to burst. His heart is going a mile a minute and it’s still not fast enough to catch up with his feelings for the man in front of him. Armin clarifies, “Us, or whatever this is. I want it. Do you?”

Jean smiles easily. Armin can’t see it, but he knows it’s there. He feels it against his skin and remembers it as well as he remembers his own name.

“I thought that was obvious.”

**Author's Note:**

> its shitty but i just want more pwp jearmin. im literal jearmin trash. drop prompt if u want to read more pwp n i might write sth.  
> thx for reading. have a good day. imma sleep bc its tiring to fucking edit.


End file.
